This is ridiculous, Alex berated herself, he’s been gone for a day and you go all weak-kneed at the sight of him. He’s your husband, for God’s sake, calm down, woman! Except that she’d woken with a hunger for him, and he hadn’t been there, and all day half of her had been thinking of him and the things she wanted him to do to her. Now he stood on the other side of the clearing and she was squirming inside with lust, but was rooted to the spot by his eyes, and so she just remained where she was, waiting. A dull ache sprang from a point in her lower back, spread like tendrils down into her sex, up into her womb. Like a contraction, a huge, burning contraction, and she was aware of thousands upon thousands of nerve ends, all of them shrieking for him.
At his continued silence she drew the pins from her hair and shook it out, hearing his loud intake of breath. She undid the bodice and let it drop to the ground to join her discarded straw hat and cap and shifted from one foot to the other to bring her thighs together in a soft rubbing motion that almost made her moan.
He gestured at her skirts. The look in his eyes made her clumsy, her fingers struggling with uncooperative knots, with fabric that slipped through her sweaty hold. She wriggled her hips and the heavy wool slid down her legs to puddle round her feet. It was an effort to breathe, to move. Her knees folded and dipped, her heart was pounding against her ribs, and for some reason her mouth was dry, she had to lick her lips to moisten them. The grass below her feet tickled her soles, sunlight danced through the foliage above her, touching his hair, gilding his shoulders. She raised her hands to the lacings of her shift, the thin linen an oppressive weight she had to discard. Her skin screamed for his touch, her mouth begged for his lips and there was a hollow sensation between her legs that only he could fill. The shift fluttered to the ground and she was as naked as the day she was born.
Lord, but she was beautiful, trembling like a cornered doe below the spreading branches of the oak. Matthew kicked off his breeches and advanced towards her in only his shirt, aware that his cock protruded like a prow before him. Her mouth… he wanted her mouth and then he was going to use his own, and… his cock jerked. He beckoned her to him and she stumbled, nearly falling before she righted herself.
He traced her brows, her nose, the line from her jaw to the hollow between her collar bones. He so wanted to say something, to put words to the emotions that surged through him, but all he could do was kiss her, softly at first, a bare brushing of lips that changed into an intense, hungry possession, with her as hungry as he was, her fingers closing painfully in his hair to hold him still. And then she knelt before him… he swayed, his hands on her head, eyes closed against the glare of the sun.
“No!” he backed away, “not yet… I want…” He fell to his knees beside her and now he had words, telling her she was his heart, the sun in his life, the single thing he could never do without and Alex laughed and cried at the same time, her hands on his arms, his chest.
Together they rid him off his shirt, and he held her eyes as he eased her down to lie on her back. There was the softest of exhalations when he entered her. She tightened her hold on him, he pressed his groin against hers, bracing on his arms to keep his weight off her rounded belly. Her mouth fell open, her eyes closed and she lifted her hips towards him. He was drowning in a sea of sensations; the sun on his back, the rough texture of the grass under his knees and shins, but most of all his wife, the softness of her skin, the urgency of her hold on his hips and the moist, welcoming warmth of her cleft. Heat surged through his loins, his cock twitched and roared, and Matthew came, wave after wave of bright red pleasure washing through him.
Afterwards he spooned himself around her.
“I missed you,” she said, making him laugh.
“Aye, I gathered that.” He nibbled her nape. “I missed you too, but then I always do.”
“Liar, I bet you didn’t think of me once last night.”
“Too much beer,” he said. Too many other things to think about, but he had no desire to ponder upon them now, so he scooted closer to her and pillowed his head on his arm.
She took his hand and lifted it to lie between her breasts, toying with his fingers. He yawned, slipping into that agreeable state halfway between wakefulness and sleep. Alex turned fully in his arms, raising her hand to his face.
“I once read in a book that making love is something you get better at with practise – a lot of practise, preferably with the same person. We’re getting pretty good at this, Mr Graham.”
He opened one eye and smiled. “Aye, but practise is always good, lass.”
“Now?” she asked huskily.
“Now,” he nodded and rose on his elbow to look at her before he lowered his head to kiss her.
Thank you, Lord for my marvellous wife, this woman that drives me to the precipice of lust and beyond, who holds me so tenderly, who loves me so entirely.
Oh God; oh God, oh God, oh God… This is my man, God, and you gave him to me.
Chapter 37
Three days later, Matthew was standing in the midst of his last un-harvested field when Ian came running through the rippling barley.
“He’s here, Da,” Ian gasped. “Fath… Luke is here! He’s come to take me back, and I don’t want to go, and I don’t know how you can stop him, and…”
“Ian,” Matthew cut him off. “We’ve talked this through.”
The lad nodded.
“So you know what to do, and so do I.” He frowned at Ian. “Go on, you must make him think you’re glad to see him.”
As Ian wheeled to run, Matthew called him back. He studied Ian and looked at himself. In coarse linen shirts and homespun breeches of an indeterminate colour somewhere between brown and grey, they were very much alike. He leaned forward and brushed Ian’s hair back, so that it fell in wild locks around his face. He ran his fingers through his own hair, and from the look on Ian’s face assumed he had managed to make it stand messily.
“We walk together,” Matthew said.
Luke dismounted and paced the yard, glaring in turn at Simon, Joan and Alex.
“You know why I’ve come,” he snapped at Simon. “I’m here to take the boy back with me.”
“Your son,” Alex nodded, watching Luke go an interesting shade somewhere between a boiled ham and beef tartar.
“Aye,” he replied, twitching at his elegant coat. He did yet another turn, walked over to talk to his men, stopped for a moment to rest his hand on one of the saddlebags his horse carried, and the ghost of a smile appeared on his face. When he turned in their direction there was a secretive look to him, lips pinched tight as if he was trying to stop himself from blabbing something. Alex felt a flutter somewhere just below her ribs. Luke Graham had something up his immaculate sleeve, that much was clear. Luke twirled on his heel, gave a short little laugh.
“What a sad, small place it is,” he said to no one in particular, before wheeling to smile at Daniel, who was clutching at Alex’ skirts.
“Oh aye? Then why not ride off and never come back?” Simon said.
Once again that lurking little smile, green eyes darting over to the saddlebag. “Oh, I will,” Luke said, “once my business here is finished.” He made an irritated noise and raised his eyes to the sun. “Where is he?” he demanded of Alex.
“Out in the fields somewhere, I’m sure he’ll be back soon. Boys tend to have an inner clock when it comes to food.” As if on cue Matthew and Ian appeared from behind the barn, deep in conversation.
It gave Alex huge satisfaction to see how Luke’s composure shattered into undisguised shock. He blinked, looked about to knuckle his eyes but recovered, face closing into an impenetrable facade. Alex stifled a nervous laugh; no doubt he’d done it on purpose, her Matthew, because as he and Ian stepped into the yard – messy dark hair, bare legs and in more or less identical clothes – it was clear to anyone not absolutely blind this was father and son, hewn from the same block and moulded by the same hand. Luke’s hands fisted, his lips thinned out.
“It hurts to realise that a cuckoo will take precedence over his beloved wee Charlie,” Simon whispered in Alex ear.
“It’s not funny,” she whispered back.
“You think not? I myself am enjoying myself immensely. Look at him, Luke Graham speechless.”
“But Ian…” Alex mumbled.
“It will sort itself,” Simon said, taking hold of her hand and giving it a little squeeze.
She sincerely hoped so, because the way Luke was staring at Ian didn’t bode all that well for his future should he remain in Luke’s tender care.
“Father!” Ian ran towards Luke, slowed to a walk, a halt, arms held out.
“Ian,” Luke replied and embraced him stiffly. “You’ve grown.”
“Is Mam doing well?” Ian asked.
“Aye,” Luke replied, “confined to bed, but doing well.” He expanded his chest. “Two weans in less than two years, quite a feat, hey?”
What? He expected some sort of congratulations for having had it off with his wife? Alex patted her belly and when Luke looked her way she grinned, displaying all her sons, now gathered round her.
Matthew had by now reached them, standing a yard or so to the side. Luke turned to face him, meeting the brittle, ice cold stare with one just as hostile.
“Still alive? As yet not hanged or deported?”
“Aye, as you see. But Oliver Wyndham isn’t. He hanged some days ago.”
“Oliver Wyndham?” Luke sounded confused. “Someone I should know?”
“Aye, I would think so. He owed you an impressive amount of money.” There was a derisive gleam in Matthew’s eyes, his long mouth stretching into a smile at Luke’s flush.
Whatever else the brothers were planning on saying was interrupted by the dinner bell, the family and household hurrying indoors until it was only Luke, his two servants, Matthew, Simon and Alex left outside.
“I’ll bring out something,” Alex said – not that she wanted to, unless it was some sort of creative stew including nightshade and a touch of hemlock.
Matthew looked at her sternly. “Nay you will not. You’ll seat my brother and his men at our table.”
Alex glared at him. “I don’t want to eat at the same table as he does.”
“Then you won’t eat.” Matthew stepped up close to her, taking a firm hold of her arm. “They are guests, Alex. Most unwelcome, but guests.” Do as I say, his eyes told her, and over his shoulder she saw Simon nod.
It was a strained meal, putting it mildly. Almost no conversation, Luke at one end, Matthew at the other. Matthew concentrated on his food, now and then throwing a look at his brother, who did the same, however put out he seemed at the amount of vegetables.
“Now,” Matthew said once the table had been cleared. “What is it you truly want?” The children had been sent outside as had the servants, and round the table remained the three adult Graham siblings, Alex and Simon.
“Want?” Luke said. “Well, that’s obvious, isn’t it? I’m here to take Ian home.”
“I assume his mother misses him,” Joan said. “They’re so close – such a special bond, between a mother and her firstborn.”
Luke looked as if he’d been force-fed pigswill. “Aye.”
“In that case I’ll help Ian pack,” Alex said, getting up. She beckoned to Joan that she should come as well, and now it was only Matthew, Luke and Simon. And Ian, but in accordance with Matthew’s instructions, he was standing where he could hear without being seen, in the passageway.
Matthew concentrated on his earthenware mug. To have Luke this close was proving to be quite the challenge to his self-control. For the last half-hour he’d been fighting the jet black anger that threatened to engulf his brain, urging him to pull his dirk and slit this Cain’s throat, and only Simon’s presence in the room stopped him from doing his brother grave bodily harm. He lifted his face to stare at Luke, who fidgeted under his eyes. Ah yes; it took but a glance to ascertain wee Luke had softened these last few years, making him no match physically for Matthew.
Luke broke eye contact and drew his saddlebag towards him.
“Do you remember, brother, the unfortunate incident more than a year ago when an officer was hanged?”
“Seeing as it happened but a few miles from here, aye I do,” Matthew said.
Luke nodded, extracting a formal looking document from his bag.
“This is a sworn statement,” he said, throwing it on the table. “As you can see, the person in question names you as the murderer.”
Simon laughed loudly. “You must try better than that, dear brother-in-law. Rumours without substance will not lead anywhere.”
“Ah,” Luke smiled nastily. “This is a statement sworn by an officer. It carries some weight.”
Matthew scanned the document. No proof, only a list of coincidences that pointed in his direction; his flogged wife, his open support of the Covenant movement, the fact that only on Tuesday was there a firm sighting of Matthew in Edinburgh, by one of the local judges. The undersigned had ridden the road himself and concluded that a good horse could be pushed to cover the distance to Edinburgh in something around thirty-four hours – and Graham was possessed of a very good horse. He bit back on a smile when he saw the signature. Somehow he suspected Captain Howard would no longer wish to be associated with this statement.
“Conjecture,” Matthew scoffed, shoving the document in the direction of Simon. He crossed his arms over his chest and waited.
Luke leaned back until his chair balanced on two legs, eyeing him coldly.
“It doesn’t take much these days, dear Brother. That document in the hands of a zealous officer will cause you much trouble. I’m sure witnesses can be found to verify that you’ve been seen with Peden.” He leaned even further back, looking like a replete fox in a devastated henhouse. Matthew kicked the chair from under him, sending him to land on the floor.
“You’re a disgusting excuse of a man,” Matthew said, towering over Luke. “And I’ll regret to my dying day that I didn’t kill you when I had the chance.”
“Well you didn’t,” Luke said, getting to his feet. “You lacked the balls.” He bent forward and retrieved the document. “I’ll give this to the commanding officer in Ayr, and then, Brother, you might find yourself in a most uncomfortable position. Perhaps not hanged, but certainly deported.” He laughed and looked at Matthew. “And your family with you, Matthew.”